Who: Ezra & Revy What: Bar encounters, sharing dream stories When: Recent~ Where: A dirty blue-collar watering hole Rating/Warnings: Language, lots of language Status: Complete!
‘Creepy’ wasn’t a word she’d use to describe her dreams, not ever. They were always clear-cut, all about a little shithole called Roanupar at the mouth of the South China Sea, where the scum of the Earth thrived. All your fuckin’ big bads, from Russians to the Mexicans, Chinese and sometimes your typical burger-n’-fries stuffing Americans came together to threaten and beat the everliving shit out of each other. On good days alliances were enforced, illegal goods smuggled from one group to another - and on the bad days, bloodshed. Nothing creepy about that, and regardless, Revy’s stomach was steely. There wasn’t much she hadn’t seen.
Aside from brainwashed, sociopathic adolescent twins sold into trafficking circles in their wee ages, then molded into batshit killing machines. There’d been a bounty on them, a big one. Roanupar was tits up in guns and prowling the filth covered streets, following the trail of red and bodies. Eda had teamed up with her, and the Rebecca Lee that existed over yonder didn’t give much of any shits when it came to busting a cap in a kid’s head (especially if they were killing everything in sight) - it was what it was, these rabid little puppies needed to be put down, and the money from it had made her mouth salivate.
Here? Fuck no. Revy had done some pretty shitty things but kids? Nah, even if they were fucked in the head, not a line she’d cross - she’d been iffy about even kidnapping Garcia for the cartel and handing him over. Videos of them existed. Old videos, of them crying and being exploited and turned into little monsters. It was all shades of messed up and all that could settle her nerves were stiff drinks. Rum, mainly. Forget the beer.
She’d gone to her usual place, where dirt accumulated in the corners and the bar top was sticky from spilled spirits. It was dim, dank, not the most respectable place, and one of the few places that didn’t give a rat’s ass about smoking indoors. Snow billowed outside, winds roared. It wasn’t weather for daisy dukes, but she wore tight denim and her tattered combat boots. A top that didn’t leave much to the imagination; her cleavage practically spilled (she was all about the ladies being free, anyone who tried touching got a broken hand), and it being sleeveless exposed the spirals of black ink tattooed over her arm, on her shoulder and crawling around the side of her neck.
Cheeks flushed from the drinking, her mind remained fairly clear. Especially as she barked curses at the fucker she’d been playing pool with, shouting strings of vulgarity that served as insults. Something about him sucking, something about him cheating the game. He ended up with a whack over the head with the cue, some more rated R exchanges were made, and he’d walked out as Revy stomped those heavy shoes to the bar for another cheap shot. Well rum, to cut the costs for tonight’s adventure.
Ezra’s dreams had slowed down since Shana had shot him. Now she was dead and Alison was back in Rosewood. It was weird how his dreams seemed to center around the lives of five teenage girls and their psycho cyber stalker. His dream life was pretty sad at the moment. Pathetic even. He wasn’t working at the moment thanks to the fact that he lost his job for sleeping with a student. Which okay a lot worse could have happened considering she was also a minor. Thinking about the dreams, always drove him to drink.
With classes out for winter break he had nothing but time to dwell on the dreams and drink. The book he wrote going missing was a bit of a distraction and yes it did make him feel better but it didn’t take away from the fact that his dreamself had still written it. So drinking was still a thing that happened. He usually called up a friend to meet him for beers but he didn’t feel like company tonight. Nor did he want to run into anyone he knew. So he entered a dive bar that he had never been to before.
Instead of opting for his usual beer Ezra went for a scotch, neat. He had just been served his drink when a loud mouthed woman was making somewhat of a scene at the pool table. Only no one seemed to pay much mind to it. He got the feeling this sort of thing happened here often. His eyes widened as the woman hit the man with her cue and he walked out. Well then. He certainly wasn’t going to be playing pool with her. In fact maybe this wasn’t the best place for him. He should probably leave after he finished his drink.
But then the woman made her way over to the bar and ended up right next to him. “Rough game?” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to talk to her, but somehow the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
Wait, what? Was he talking to her? Revy’s brow furrowed. Well, he was fucking looking at her. Witnessed the shit game, hence his reference. Gold ambrosia poured in a tall shot glass, she opted to pour that down the hatch first, let that familiar tingle prick her throat (it stopped burning forever ago), and she slammed it atop the bar surface. It didn’t crack under the force, though the loud sound from impact made it almost seem like it should have.
“You are way too fucking nerdy-looking to be here,” she deadpanned, blunt as ever, and took the spot next to him. Most patrons here were older, blue-collar workers. Rough around the edges, mouth of sailors, lungs blackened by habitual nicotine inhalation. More her crowd. Once they figured out to leave her the fuck alone for the most part - she wasn’t looking for a quickie in the handicap stall, wasn’t looking for a sugardaddy. “Gonna guess rough life for you.”
Well he wasn’t expecting that comment. Though he couldn’t deny that it was true. This wasn’t his usual type of place. He was still considering leaving. It would probably be a good idea. The smart idea. “You’re probably right,” he agreed with a shrug picking up his own drink and downing it. It burned as it slid down his throat but he did his best not to make a face.
“Could be worse,” another shrug. He certainly wasn’t going to complain about his life here of all places. He probably had it better off than a lot of the patrons. And no he was not looking to pick up any woman or have a quickie in the bathroom. “A bit of a rough day, but it didn’t look as rough as your pool game,” he couldn’t help but comment. And it was true if her reaction was anything to go by.
Hey, as long as he knew he didn’t blend with the scene. “That guy’s a regular asshole,” Revy snorted, fishing out the wrinkled box of cigarettes. “Woulda shoved that stick up it too if he didn’t fuck off when I told him, screw the lube.” By now most lost souls that frequented this hole of booze and filth had known about the tattooed half-Chinese woman who came in and out, how vulgar she could be and how she had no qualms breaking bones.
Cancer stick pulled, bic lighter scorching the end of it for a light, she puffed twice to keep it ignited and then exhaled. It sounded almost like a sappy sigh. If she had a choice between alcohol and cigarettes, she’d choose the one that’d give her cancer. A habit she couldn’t (and wouldn’t) quit. “So what are you doing here? Someone kicked your kitten?”
Ezra shuddered when the woman described what she wanted to do with the cue. It sounded painful. But as long as he wasn’t on the receiving end of it? “I might just pay good money to see that,” he commented with a smirk. “As long as you keep your stick away from me,” it was a joke. A pretty bad one but still his attempt. He never claimed to be a comedian.
He did have to laugh at the kitten comment. No way did he have a cat or any animal. Nor did he want one. “How did you know?” he asked flagging the bartender down for another drink. Okay so maybe he wasn’t going to leave just yet. He wasn’t aware he looked that wholesome. “Needed a drink,” he added answering her question for real now. “I figured it was best to go to a place where I wouldn’t run into any of my students. Or former students,” considering it was a break. “And you? Any specific reason other than beating people with pool sticks?”
Wow. Fuckin’ nerd, that was a terrible joke. So terrible she had to snort a laugh, the sound gravelly against her throat. She was laughing at you, not with you, Ezra. “Shit sleep,” she explained, teeth pressing gently around the cigarette while she kept her hands occupied - one to put away the pack, the other to gesture for another round. “So I’m cranky.”
Not a total lie. Students, though? Explained a lot. Teacher here looked out of place among the sea of nicotine-huffing muscle. “College? A guess, unless you’ve got some sneaky high schoolers with fake IDs barhopping for your ass. Don’t want to get caught making sweet eyes at a sorority girl, shit like that tends to bite you in the ass.”
There was a porn like that she edited before. Ass biting literally included.
Ezra could relate to that considering he had his fair share of a bad night’s sleep. He briefly wondered if it was dream related for her. He knew not everyone in Orange County dreamt but a good portion did. And well with a comment like that it was a somewhat logical conclusion. “I know how that goes,” Ezra replied with a shrug. “Mostly due to dreams.” If she was a dreamer she might know what he was referring too. Otherwise he just sounded like a normal person with bad dreams.
“Yeah college. Though a lot of them have fake IDs too.” The majority of his students were under twenty-one considering he mostly taught the GE and introductory courses. Not that he would ever bust them, but it was always awkward when he saw students, past or present, in a bar. “Sorority girls aren’t my type,” he replied. It was true, he may have be attracted to younger woman but sorority girls? Not unless they had some serious brains to them.
Bad dreams, yeah? Revy caught the message, observing him with squinted amber eyes. Smoke exhaled from her mouth, ashes flickered into the nearest ash tray, and she used her fingers to flip her hair back. Way to fish out if they had something in common, and low n’ behold, she actually did with the asshole who looked like he could fashion a mean set of sweater vests and tacky bow ties. “Here’s to crappy dreams,” she toasted, throwing another shot down the gullet. She felt buzzy, swimmy even, but she wasn’t incoherently shitfaced. Pleasantly intoxicated was a more accurate description.
“That’s fucking creepy. You’re young, too, you probably got cockhoppers still sporting teenage bras and flowery panties who think being hot for teacher’s cute,” she bluntly said, leaning into the back of her stool, elbow propped on it. “Not into them?”
Ezra merely nodded at her toast and downed another shot as well, the liquid still burning his throat as it slid down. “What are yours like?” he questioned coughing a bit from the taste of the alcohol. He had a feeling that hers were a lot different than his. Though his were twisted in their own way. With all the murder and fake deaths and stalking and threats.
He merely smirked at her comment about his students. Though he would never describe them as ‘cockhoppers’. She certainly had some colorful language. “You never wanted to hook up with one of your teachers?” he deadpanned. “Not really. I prefer women with brains.” Someone that could hold a conversation about literature, it was his passion after all. “Should I even guess what your type is?”
“Modern day piracy. Lots of shooting and getting shot at,” Revy shrugged. She’d grown up with violence, but nothing to the extreme that she dreamt - those things took it all and raised it tenfold. Plus, the fucking boat. Man, she fucking missed that. “What I’m used to, aside from the piracy. I didn’t stay in school long enough to want to fuck one, to answer your question. Shameless drop out.”
Something she wanted to work on, anyway. GED stuff. Not that she had looked into it yet, because fucking babysteps. Another inhale of her cigarette, and midst the puff she raised a brow at that question. Sort of a good one, considering it had her actually thinking. “Don’t have one, I guess. But if we’re going by dream tastes…” Honeycomb eyes narrowed as she smirked. “A spineless, goodhearted businessman who gets his sorry ass kidnapped a lot.”
“Ever actually get shot? That happened to me once.” Although he had a feeling she probably had quite a few times. Suddenly getting shot by A didn’t seem so bad. “Piracy seems like a common theme in dreams,” he commented. He knew of at least one other, Isabela. And he had seen some others post about it too.
“Ever thought about going back?” he was all about furthering education. Though he had no idea she had actually been thinking about getting her GED. If he knew that he would offer to tutor her. He had been known to do that. Well at least in the dreams.
“Not who I pictured,” he said with a sip of his drink when she described her dream type. “Are you the one who ends up saving his kidnapped ass all the time?” it sounded fitting at least.
Ever actually get - oh, for fuck’s sake, wasn’t he almost cute as a goddamn button? “More than I have fingers,” she scoffed, pointing at a faded scar on her arm. Circular, a little darker than her olive-toned skin, and there were more to show if she’d even bother lifting her tanktop to expose her side but that wasn’t happening. “But, hell. I thought about it, sure, just actually gotta put that shit into motion.” There was hesitance about crossing that line - Revy thought she’d irreparably just fuck it up - but if it didn’t work, it didn’t work, boo fucking hoo.
As for Rock, the spineless businessman that got himself nabbed on a regular basis, she’d agree. Not who she’d picture either. They’d been fucking, dreamwise, and kept it on the down low. Her business didn’t need to be flaunted. Dutch and Benny would want all the juicy details like Gossiping Gabbies. “I do, that fucking damsel. I’m the muscle, it’s sort of my job in scenarios like that anyway. Enough of that dipshit, what about you, Teach? You’re taking this talk pretty well.”
His feeling had been right. But he certainly wasn’t expecting her to show off one of her scars. “That… sucks,” yes the English Professor didn’t have a better word. “You seem to handle it well,” the whole getting shot thing. He had been a mess after and he had been healed. By vampire blood from a friend he didn’t even know was a vampire. That could have been more of the cause of him being a mess than the being shot thing.
“Well if you need any help let me know,” he paused should he really let this woman know where to find him? Even if it was to help further her education. “As long as you promise not to stick any pool cues up my ass,” he gave a half smile. He’d leave it at that for now, if she was interested he would give her his contact information.
“I certainly wouldn’t place you as the damsel,” he could tell that right away. And it was meant as a compliment. But she didn’t seem to want to talk about that subject any further and no way in hell was he going to prod her about it. “I suppose I am,” he shrugged. The more he talked to her the easier it was, and even though he had seen her threaten others she hadn’t with him and he was confident he hadn’t given her a reason to either. Although he was sure she could beat the shit out of him if she wanted to.
Didn’t Leon say to not threaten any potential testers, or tutors, or something? Huh. Well, she was sitting next to a fucking person of education, might be a way of the stars aligning bitch slapping her in the face with a sign. Or in this context, shoving signs right up her asshole.
Revy had some time to think about it. Hell, she could get his damn number and contact him once she made up her mind - but with him present, the idea of it seemed to stick more. “What’s your fuckin’ deal, then? Dreamwise,” she asked, taking the last hit of cigarette before smothering it in the ashtray, nothing left but small embers that’d turn to nothing.
Well looked like they were past the subject of her furthering her education. Onto his dreams. It was fair enough since she had shared about hers. “High school teacher, turned college professor, then back to high school teacher. Currently unemployed.” That was his story career wise at least. “My dreams seem to center around four, or I guess five now, teenage girls who are being threatened by an anonymous stalker.” That was the reader’s digest version at least. “Not quite as exciting as piracy.”
Uhhhhh, okay. Random world to dream about. Most people had a little spice in these other worlds, something over the top or maybe even fantastical but his was… “Sounds like a bunch of bullshit teenage angst,” Revy snorted. “Please tell me you’re not boning one of them. Fuck, dude, it really sounds like a crap romance novel.”
Or a bad porno, which she’d seen. And edited. They were common ‘plots’ (porn nowadays liked to tell some kind of story).
It was a bunch of bullshit teenage angst. With murder. And people who were dead but not really dead because they came back months or years later. It was difficult to keep track. It was also a bunch of shit that he knew wasn’t possible in real life. No one could get away with what A did, Orange Country strangeness include.
Ezra coughed at the mention of ‘boning’ one of his students. He wouldn’t put it like that but it was accurate. “Why do you think I keep getting fired?” he finally replied doing his best to make light of the whole situation. How the hell else was he supposed to deal with it?
Why did he keep - oh, woooooow. Revy fished for another cigarette to light. Even slid the box towards him if he wanted to bum one, because the guy sounded he needed something else to accompany his poison too. “Lesson learned,” she sighed, both brows flaring up briefly. “That training bra better be worth it, but I doubt it. College chicks are almost a little better than high school ones?”
Not by much but at least most were above the age of eighteen.
Ezra wasn’t a smoker but he appreciated the offer even though he didn’t accept. Knowing him it probably wouldn’t go well either. Even more coughing than all his awkward coughs already. “Depends on the girl,” he shrugged not wanting to go too much into his
“I should get going,” he knew the later it got the more insane this bar would get. It was nice for a drink but he didn’t want to be around when things got too routy. Although he had enjoyed his chat with the woman next to him. “If you ever need help with school or anything look me up. Ezra Fitz. I teach at UCI.”
“I’ll probably hunt your ass down on the network or something,” she waved, blowing smoke from her mouth to contribute to the cigarette smog - it clung to the bar like a hazy mist. “Try and keep it professional, teach, young pretty things aren’t worth your career.”